Bathrooms and Beatdowns
by Chronos Keeper
Summary: Slice of life, Strider style; Bro has a shitty DJ gig, Dave comes to the rescue.


Dave waddled to the bathroom with, like, the fullest bladder ever. He had the pee. ALL OF IT.

It was something like 6 in the morning, and normally he wouldn't even dream of getting up this early, except it was a Saturday, so he stayed up late and drank shit tons of apple juice. Mostly because his brother had absconded with all of the Mountain Dew after learning Dave drank 2 liters of the stuff in an hour earlier in the evening.

Anyway, apple juice and its imminent evacuation from his body. Nevermind that it's totally not healthy for a 13 year old to drink that much. Dave had complained that caffeine stunting his growth was such total bullshit; he looked it up on snopes. Bro had given one of his easy half smirks and countered that he didn't care if Dave shrank to the size of a teacup poodle. He was more worried about the fact that overdosing on caffeine fucks up your heart.

Dave said oh.

Oh COME ON. The bathroom door was closed, and judging by the condensation leaking out from under the door, bro was showering. "Broooooo." He didn't mean to sound like a pissed off, whiny adolescent, but he sounded uncannily like one. Damn.

Muffled by the door, a somewhat surprised, "What," came out in response.

"I gotta pee!"

"So go pee." Bro's voice was kind of tired sounding. Dave could hear water spattering on the floor among the weak stream from the shower head.

Ugh, he hate peeing when his brother was in the shower. It was like, dude, can't a guy get some damn privacy here, goods all out on display swinging in the breeze? Well, he supposed that could go for his brother, too, who didn't seem to care whether or not the kid he raised from birth saw his naked ass. Then again, his bro didn't seemed to be fazed by naked ass, period, if the puppets were anything to judge by.

And yeah, of course he had to be done with his shower two seconds after Dave started peeing. Fucking irony, right there. He caught sight of his brother's arm poke out from between the shower curtains and snag the towel from the floor. Or, try to anyway. Bro wiggled the towel to get his attention. "Foot up, man." Dave lifted the foot that he had planted on it so Bro could reel it in.

God he was being an endless fountain of piss right here. Shit was not funny.

An awkward pause as Dave kept peeing. Bro, amusement in his voice, ventured, "You done yet, man? I gotta get ready."

AUUUGHHH STOP TALKING ABOUT MY PEE YOU'RE FREAKIN' ME OUT. But all Dave said was, "One sec." There we go.

Bro stepped out, like he had some kind of fucking spider-sense about Dave's bodily functions and knew when the coast was clear. He had wound the towel around his hips, and brushed aside Dave to get to the sink. "You seen my comb, man?"

Uhm. The comb that he used in the last hashrap battle? "Nope." That was a little too quick. "Maybe I got another in my room, hold up." He squeezed past his slick bro (this bathroom was not meant for two people to be in it at once), noting the bruises and scrapes dotting his legs and torso as he did. Dave knew where they all came from, so he wasn't concerned. A lot of them came from their sparring sessions, others from some insane fucking skate stunts he pulled, and others from random shit that guys his age happened to do.

His room was dark and surprisingly cool when he went back in. He contemplated just going back to sleep, but decided that was a flaky thing to do, so he scoured his room for a second and surfaced a plastic comb. When he headed back out into the hall he nearly gagged on the scent of the spray bro was using. "Ugh, God. What the hell are you doing in there? It smells like a Bible story up in this shit."

Bro just laughed as he swiped the comb, expertly applying it to his head. His hair started to take on it's usual, carefully spiky look. "Why're you up, man?"

"Had to pee." Dave shrugged. "Why are you up."

"Hafta see some people. Ice some motherfuckers."

"Really?"

"Nah."

"What the hell are you spraying yourself with?"

Bro tilted the can in his direction.

"Axe? Man, that's that crap tools use. What gives, dog?" Dave had no problem in letting it be known that his brother using weird toiletries was not going to happen under his watch.

Bro gave a half smile, but didn't say anything. He kept watching Dave, like he was waiting for him to get something.

Unless...

"Wait." Dave tried to rack his brain and come up with what engagement his brother had at oh-ass-hundred hours. He dimly recalled something about some party a lot of the fraternities were hosting to send off the end of the school year. And those kids were nothing if not tools. "You're-"

Bro grinned.

Dave grinned. Bro was making one his his ironic ninja maneouvers by playing it straight, pretending like he belonged there with a bunch of rich kids with poor fashion taste. And probably use too much of that stinky crap. Basically, making fun of them. "But why so early?"

"All day affair, dawg. Gotta shove off, soon, so head back to bed." He scruffed the top of Dave's head affectionately, and resumed his morning ablutions.

Man, Dave wished he could video that shit. People who took themselves seriously like that were priceless.

_  
>-Beatdowns-<p>

It was somewhere around 6:00 in the evening when Dave got the text. At the moment, he was preoccupied with stabbing at the swinging spiky block he had installed in the attic trapdoor, dodging the wobbling monstrosity when his phone went off with its signature text sound, one of his brother's tracks. He stopped it in midair, extending the sword and tangling the blade in with the other protrusions, while he fished in his pocket to retrieve the vibrating device.

It took him a few seconds to unlock the screen, and with his fingers stiff from gripping the sword hilt it was kinda ridiculously hard, but finally he prevailed. Generally his bro would text him to check up on things, make sure Dave hadn't set the apartment on fire or something. Which actually did happen once, but it was really an honest mistake, and who knew that the shit inside a lava lamp was so flammable?

But this time, it was a request. "bro, need a favor. left some records in the attic in blue crate. grab them and bring them to zeta nu house 318 hillcrest dr."

Aw, shit. That would take an hour to get there. But grousing aside, Dave felt a little surge of pride. His brother trusted him enough to do something like this, and trusted his self sufficiency to be able to deliver. And anyway, it's not like he had anything better to do. He had been cooped up all day, so this would be nice to get out.

So Dave texted back with, "np. be there in 1 hr." Bro responded back almost instantaneously, so he must have been taking a break. It only read, "10-4."

Predictably, the attic door was stuffed with puppet ass.

GOD.

If that was a trap, Dave was going to kill his brother. But it looked like a coincidence, and that Bro had left the attic in a rush, jamming unsold puppets up in the maw above him as fast as he could without them falling back down. So Dave instead clambered up the pile of puppets, and using the training block as a dangerous stepping stone, he hauled himself into the crawlspace above their living room. The blue crate was within easy reach to his left, so he snagged the requested vinyls, a couple of relatively new ones still in their cardboard slips, and eschewed climbing back down for falling back into the welcoming pile of plush stuff. He was glad he was alone when he let out a delighted giggle at the sensation. God, giggling was so not cool. (But jegus that was fun.)

The city was surprisingly tame, and the walk uneventful. The worst thing to happen to him was a pack of old ladies stopping him to ask if he was okay, if he was lost, bluh bluh bluh. Whatever. (Although he didn't mind the candy they shucked off on him, and he contentedly sucked on butterscotch for the rest of his walk.) The zeta nu house practically throbbed like some massive architectural wound with his bro's ill beats. Or he assumed it was his bro's, but they could have a stand in dj or whatever. He hoped that bro was dropping some major cultural revelation in these snobs' lives. But they would probably be too dim to get it. Probably.

He was stopped at the door by a couple of frat boys, who seemed a little perturbed by a kid waltzing up like he owned the place. Dave was really in no mood to get hassled by these morons, so he only flashed the records at them, explained he was delivering for the dj. Both of them stopped short, and then broke out into nervous guffaws. Dave was about to get righteous on their asses when they waved him through, but with a warning not to smoke or drink anything. One of them shouted back, "Good luck finding him." Which for some idiotic reason, cracked them both up again.

It was a pretty standard party, nothing spectacular. Just a bunch of college kids getting good and fucked up on whatever booze their hosts' parents' credit cards could buy. Everything smelled like cigarettes, pot, stale alcohol, sweat, and perfume. Yup. He knew this kind of scene like it was etched on the backs of his eyelids. He went to where he could see the dj's set up, squirming between oblivious couples dancing and macking. Augh, god, why did they have to do that shit in public. But his bro was nowhere to be found.

Okay. Kinda weird. He'd really been expecting Bro to be somewhere in plain sight, but this was okay. Uhmm...

Dave set the records on the mixing table, skirting a subwoofer that was blasting the kind of noise that shook his guts. He looked around from his new vantage point, but still saw neither his bro, nor anybody he recognized. A passing girl spared him a look, enough of an invitation for Dave to snag her attention. "Yo!"

She turned and batted big brown eyes at him.

"You seen the dj around anywhere?" Given the proximity to the speakers, he had to shout to be heard.

She thought for a second, eyes turned to the side and skyward. "You should ask Mike, I think he does." She leveled one slender arm toward a tall, muscle-bound dude standing in a corner yukking it up with a few other guys. "Aren't you a little young to be in here?"

Dave ignored her. He felt trouble brewing, and his unease was only deepening as he neared the brosephs. When the tall guy caught sight of him, he alerted his buds to the interloper with a jerk of his chin. They simultaneously looked his way, like a bunch of damn animals. He didn't need to shout to be heard here. "You guys seen the dj anywhere?"

A smirk flashed across the big guy's face, one that he tried to stifle unsuccessfully. His buddies snickered, trying to hide their mirth in their red plastic cups. God, these guys were such tools. "Who's asking," the big guy finally said, giving Dave the hairy eye.

"The dj's brother." He narrowed his eyes at the pack of doofuses. God, so lame. "He told me to bring some records for him."

Mike, still trying to fight back a conspiratorial smile, shrugged. "Dunno, man. And besides, you shouldn't be here. We could get arrested for having a kid around here like this."

Dave only gave them a flat look. And then turned and walked away, deciding to find Bro for himself. It didn't take long before the girl who he'd talked to before stopped him. She looked disturbed. "Hey. Uhm- you said the dj is your brother?"

Dave, in the middle of scouring the room, didn't skip a beat in his survey. Jesus, did the guy just disappear?

"I think that he's in the bathroom. I watched Mike put something in his drink a while ago, and he hasn't been out since."

Wow, that sounded totally weird. Dave snapped his head over. "How long ago?"

"Uh... maybe ten or fifteen minutes before you got here?"

Yeah, that totally didn't sound good. "Where's the bathroom?"

She pointed out a small hallway off to the side. Dave took off. He skirted between people, tripping over legs and furniture, and grabbed the wall to slow his momentum and make the corner. It was cooler and darker away from the crowd, the hall smelling of wood polish and old carpet. The only door down there was closed, but not locked. Dave knocked, his heart going a little too fast. "Bro? You there?"

He heard some kind of choking noise, then some shoes on linoleum. Someone grabbed the knob from the other side, turned it, and yanked the door open. Dave barely had time to register his brother's flushed face before he reached out, got a good fistful of Dave's shirt, and yanked him in. He shut the door behind them and locked it, and then whirled around in the cramped space to lean over the toilet, panting.

Holy shit this was so very off the wall. His voice was high and cracked a little bit when he hazarded another, "Bro?"

Bro sounded husky and a little garbled, and Dave had a hard time understanding him when he said, "Bunch of fucking animals. Stay in here with me, I don't want you near them. Face the wall."

"What?" What the hell was this guy saying? He wasn't making any sense-

Bro grabbed his shoulder and spun him to face away. "I don't want you seeing this."

Dave craned his head over, saying, "Seeing what," only to be met with Bro's hand pushing it back to face the paneling.

"Look over there."

Of course, Dave, a little too freaked and angry, didn't do as he was told, and caught sight as Bro jammed a finger down his own throat. Dave froze, agog. At first, all his brother did was produce a horribly strained, long retch, and his face shifted subtly, casting it into a light of desperation. Unstymied, this time Bro added a few more fingers to the mix, jamming them into his mouth as far as he could reach. Even from his awkward angle, Dave could see his belly hitch under his shirt, the spasm working up to produce a strangled gag, preceding a jolt that sprayed vomit into the toilet bowl. The acrid scent of stomach acid, bile, and booze bloomed in the air.

Dave whipped around to face the wall, totally horrified.

His brother continued puking for a few more seconds, before Dave heard him let out an explosive breath that banged off the tiles, and his shoes squealed on the floor as he resituated himself against the wall. Dave turned again to see his bro slumped, running a hand through his matted hair and across his forehead, breathing heavily. Shit this was not cool. Dave turned to plunder the cabinet under the sink, turning up a few clean washcloths. He ran the taps, and soaked one, then turned to swipe it across Bro's face, who jerked away from the chill, then reached up to take it himself. He grabbed Dave's other wrist with his free hand, pinning him in place. Dave, with no other options, worried his lower lip and fidgeted, fear translating as anger. "Dude, what the fuck. What the fuck is going on, hunh?"

Bro shook his head, the movements a little wobbly. He sounded exhausted as he admitted, "I'm sorry, Dave. I never would have called you over if-" he made a short, disgusted sound in the back of his throat, and swallowed. "It doesn't matter. We're both leaving. C'mon." He made a mostly coordinated effort to gain his land legs again, grappling with the walls and sink.

But no one ever said Dave was a slow kid, and the wheels that had been turning in his head fell into place with a click. The gastrointestinal show, the sniggering frat boys, the drink. "Those fuckers slipped you a roofie."

His bro's eyes, bare of their glasses, flicked to him. He went still, and then reached out with the other hand, too late, to try and snag at his younger brother. "Dave, don't you-"

But Dave was already rocketing out the door, down the hall, to find that a small herd of frat boys had collected at the entrance of the hallway, Mike the foremost.

Dave wasn't even thinking when he cocked back a fist and let it fly, landing it square on Mike's jaw. It impacted with a flat, unimpressive sounding thwack, and it staggered the older guy mostly because he was drunk and not expecting it. "You FUCKING ASSHOLES," he screamed, his voice breaking. He didn't sound intimidating, but he sure looked as if he would go ten rounds with a mutant alligator, standing arms akimbo and fists balled.. No one fucked with the Strider brothers and kept all their goddamn teeth.

Mike's shock quickly turned to anger, and maybe he would have been less of an asshole if he weren't so drunk and probably high. But as it was, he had no compunctions about pushing a twelve year old hard enough to floor him, and since onlookers were too entrenched in a herd mentality, or too aghast at what Mike was pulling, it didn't look as it anyone was going to stop him. Mike's own face had turned to one of an angry, petulant child, and he was about to land his own punch on his cocky adversary when someone caught his fist.

There hadn't been anyone there before, and nobody, not Dave nor Mike nor any one of the crowd, had seen the elder Strider step between a punch and his brother. And no one but Mike saw the look in his eye when he drew even. But everyone clearly heard Strider's quiet voice, laced with hatred and venom, enough to reach through the fog of anger and alcohol permeating Mike's brain. "Don't you fucking touch him."

And nobody stopped Strider as he crushed the captured hand into little more than a gnarled stump of bone, flesh, and sinew. He only let go when Mike let out a agonized bellow, a sound that seared through the bone-rattling base and drew a peppering of looks. From the spot on the floor where he had not yet moved, Dave very nearly clapped his hands over his ears to shut out the sound, but settled for his jaw dropping. He was simultaneously impressed and horrified that his brother had both the strength and the sheer fucking anger to pull off a stunt like that. His brother, who was the chillest guy on the fucking planet. Who just crumpled a dude's hand like a sheet of paper.

Un. Fucking. Real.

He didn't have long to enjoy Mike's frothy bout of crying and swearing unintelligebly, because his brother collected him from the floor, dropping his face close to Dave's to ask, "You okay, Dave?"

Dave only nodded, glad that his glasses hadn't fallen off his face from the shove. He didn't want his brother to see how fucking big his eyes were right now. Bro seemed to be at least resigned if not satisfied, and he grabbed Dave's hand, leading him through the mass of bodies. The crowd parted like the Red Sea.

They left the house without gathering any of Bro's equipment, Dave still trailing his brother, hand still latched in his brother's large one. They walked quickly for a few blocks, enough to get out of range of the bass, and the sounds of the city seemed to rush in on them. It was only then that his brother turned to him, skimming his hands up and down Dave's arms and legs, briefly lifting his shirt and expose skinny kid torso to see the extent of damage done by the shove. He seemed to pay no attention even when Dave complained about creepy old dudes getting a peep show all thanks to him, trying to bat his shirt back down. Finally, when the flash exam was done, Bro did something he usually didn't do in public, and not recently since Dave was getting more and more crabby about getting to be a big kid and all that.

He looped his arms around his younger brother, and held him.

Dave had the feeling that the experience was probably more traumatic for bro than him, anyway. So he let his older brother hug him.

(Never mind that it actually felt good, and he was still trying to calm the fuck down himself. He was used to fighting older dudes, but not used to getting flipped out on by older dudes. Big difference.)

They walked back home, mostly quiet, bro still keeping a hand on Dave's shoulder as they walked. He stopped them at a drug store and bought a few sodas that they chugged at the skate park they went to sometimes. Dave pretended not to notice that bro's hands were still shaking, and hoped that bro really did miss that his own hands were just now starting to shake.

The high rise shone like some pagan monolith in the setting sun as they approached. Generally, he and bro would race each other on the stairs to get to the top; tonight, Bro dinged the elevator, and they rode up huddled together, bro ever so slightly pulling him away from the other passengers, into himself. In the apartment, bro took stock of the puppet pile, but said nothing about it, instead telling Dave to chill out on the couch while he took a shower.

Dave fell asleep on the couch, and only woke briefly when his older brother sat down beside him. He fell asleep with his face pressed against his brother's shoulder.

If anyone had asked Dave, he would have said he didn't dream. If anyone had asked Strider, he wouldn't have said anything. But he would have known that Dave whimpered and twitched in his sleep through the night.

Almost a year later, when Rose Lalonde would accuse him of being willfully ignorant to everything that surrounded him, he bit back the great urge to tell her to stuff it. Out of all of the kids, he was probably the least blind to the kinds of horrors that went on, and he knew that the world didn't need monsters from the deep to perpetuate them.  
> <p>


End file.
